Page 15 of Sexting the Silverfox Daddy

"Don't what?" I leaned down, my lips brushing her ear, my breath hot against her skin. "Don't make you remember who you belong to?"

I grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head, and looped the belt around them, tying them to the headboard. Her breath caught, her body tensing, but her eyes burned with need.

I was gonna make her lose herself in this fucked-up, perfect night.

Her body sprawled beneath me, moonlight carving sharp shadows across her curves, her red hair a tangled, fiery halo against the sheets.

Her sweater hung in tatters, ripped apart by my hands, the lacy bra beneath barely clinging to her skin, frayed and useless.

Her chest heaved, flushed a furious pink, and those eyes—fuck, those eyes—blazed with defiance and a raw, reckless surrender that ignited something primal in me.

The belt I’d clamped around her wrists bit into her skin, chaining her arms to the headboard, her body taut, exposed, and entirely at my mercy.

I was teetering on the edge of rage, every nerve screaming, my blood roaring with the need to claim, to break, to own.

I knelt on the bed, my hands seizing her thighs with bruising force, shoving her skirt up to her hips.

Her breath hitched, a choked whimper escaping as my fingers grazed the soaked lace between her legs.

She was dripping, her body betraying her even as she yanked against the restraints, the leather creaking under her struggle.

I smirked, but it was sharp, cruel, fueled by the storm raging in my chest. I leaned down, my teeth sinking into the soft flesh of her inner thigh, hard enough to draw a gasp and leave a red welt that would darken into a bruise by dawn.

She writhed, her hips twitching, but I pinned her down, my grip unrelenting.

"You think you can fight me?" I growled, my voice a low, dangerous snarl, my hands clawing up her hips, her waist, to her chest. I tore her bra apart, the fabric shredding under my fingers, and my mouth claimed her nipple, sucking with savage intensity before biting down, hard.

A purple mark bloomed where my teeth had been, and her cry—sharp, desperate—only stoked the fire in me.

Her body arched, straining against the cuffs, the headboard groaning as she pulled.

"Gennady," she gasped, her voice raw, trembling with need and defiance, her wrists twisting, red and raw from the leather. My name on her lips, broken and pleading, hit me like a spark to gasoline.

I moved lower, my mouth a weapon, biting and kissing down her stomach, leaving a trail of angry red marks that would linger for days.

My hands forced her thighs apart, fingers digging into her flesh, leaving faint bruises as I spread her wide.

Her skirt was a crumpled mess, and I ripped her panties off, the fabric tearing with a vicious snap.

She moaned, her hips bucking, but I didn’t give her a moment to breathe.

My mouth descended, tasting her, my tongue relentless, my fingers plunging inside, curling to hit that spot that made her shake.

I bit her thigh again, harder, the mark blooming dark and deliberate.

"You’re mine," I snarled, my voice thick with rage and hunger, my fingers tightening on her hips, bruising her as I worked her mercilessly. Her moans turned frantic, her thighs trembling under my iron grip. She was close, her breaths sharp and ragged, her body fighting the cuffs, fighting me, but I didn’t relent.

I pushed harder, my tongue and fingers driving her to the edge, her defiance crumbling under the onslaught.

"Please," she sobbed, her voice cracking, her head thrown back, red hair spilling wild over the pillow. "Gennady, please."

I didn’t stop, didn’t soften. I wanted her broken, surrendered, mine. Her body seized, a raw cry tearing from her throat as she came, her release violent, her thighs shaking uncontrollably. I kept going, dragging it out until she was panting, her eyes glazed, her wrists chafed raw.

I stood, my movements sharp, tearing off my shirt and letting it hit the floor.

Her eyes, still hazy, traced the hard lines of my chest, the scars carved into my skin, but I didn’t care about her gaze.

I kicked off my pants, my arousal straining, undeniable.

I leaned over her, loosening the belt just enough to flip her onto her stomach, her wrists still bound.

My hand cracked down on her ass, a sharp, stinging slap that left a red handprint.

She gasped, her body jerking, but the moan that followed was pure need.

I hit her again, harder, the sound echoing in the room.

"You think you can walk away from me?" I growled, my voice a blade, my hands gripping her hips with bruising force, nails digging into her skin. I freed her wrists but kept her pinned, my body pressing against hers, my arousal hot and demanding against her. "Say it, Cassie. Say you’re mine."

Her face turned, cheek pressed to the sheets, her eyes meeting mine, wet and burning with a fire that matched my own. "I’m yours," she whispered, her voice shaking but fierce, her hands clawing at the sheets.

I didn’t wait. I thrust into her, hard and deep, her gasp sharp and raw.

My hands roamed her back, one tangling in her hair, yanking her head back as I moved, each thrust a claim, a punishment, a release.

I bit her shoulder, hard enough to leave a dark kiss mark, her moan spurring me on.

Her nails dug into the sheets, her hips meeting mine, matching my fury.

I kissed her, my lips crashing into hers, all teeth and hunger, my hands leaving bruises on her hips as I drove into her.

"Fuck, Cassie," I groaned, my voice rough, my control fraying.

Her body tightened around me, her breaths jagged, her moans desperate.

"Gennady," she cried, her voice breaking as she came again, her release pulling me under.

The rage in me shattered, spilling into a blinding, white-hot climax that left me gasping, my heart pounding.

We collapsed, her body trembling beneath me, both of us spent.

I rolled to the side, pulling her close, her head on my chest, her fingers tracing the scars on my skin.

Her body was marked—bruises, red welts, kiss marks that would linger for days.

The anger was gone, burned out in the fire of us, replaced by something raw, unspoken, and heavy.

She nestled closer, and I held her tighter, the storm in me finally quiet.

"Gennady," her voice broke, thick with tears and longing, "I'm scared."

"Scared of what?" I leaned down, kissing the tears from her cheeks, my lips soft against her trembling skin. "Scared of me? Or scared of yourself?"

Her eyes glistened, tears catching the moonlight. She bit her lip, her body still shaking, but her gaze steadied, a mix of surrender and something deeper. "I'm scared I can't let you go."

Her words hit like a bullet, dead-center in my chest. I stared into her eyes, seeing the fight and the raw honesty there. Logic screamed that this was a dangerous fucking abyss, but I didn't give a damn anymore. I wanted her—not just that night, but every damn night.

"You don't have to let me go," I murmured, my fingers brushing her cheek, gentle but firm. "Because I'm not letting you go either."

She closed her eyes, more tears slipping free, her body finally softening, like she'd done fighting. She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Okay."

Right then, I knew she was mine. Not just her body—her heart too.